


Healing Hands

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:53:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders heals Hawke's wounds after his battle with the Arishok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing Hands

"Well, now. Look who decided to join us."

Hawke heard Anders before he could really see him, blinking his eyes rapidly as he woke and tried to focus. He was in his bed, stripped of his armor, wrapped in bandages and covered with blankets, with Anders sitting patiently beside him.

"What happened?" Hawke's voice was unexpectedly raspy, and he coughed to clear his throat, but it hardly helped with the dryness. His arms felt like rubber, and Anders helped him take a pathetically clumsy drink from a cup of water at the bedside, his face finally coming into focus in Hawke's peripheral vision as he spoke, lips twitching at the corners and forming a teasing grin, though no smile could have hidden the concern in his eyes.

"You dueled the Arishok, saved Kirkwall, were named its Champion by the Knight-Commander... and then fainted dead away at her feet. Or don't you recall?"

Hawke groaned and tried to rub at his eyes, but the slightest movement was agony. "Everything but that last part."

Anders' playful smile was gone, his expression overwritten with tight-lipped worry, and his voice was soft. "Not surprising. You got a nasty knock on the head, you know."

Hawke flashed an exaggerated, toothy grin through torn and cracked lips, wincing at the pain. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

A faint pink blush crept across Anders' cheeks, making the little ever-present raw splashes of color there turn just a shade darker. He narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, thought about telling Hawke to be serious for once... but it was clear that Hawke was putting on a smile for his sake, and he could not bring himself to chide him for it, so Anders held that remark under his tongue.

"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed, leaning closer and cupping the side of Hawke's face with his palm, bloody unkempt beard and all.

"Putting up with my insufferable charm day in and day out is terrible, I know." Hawke turned his cheek and kissed the tips of Anders' fingers before looking up expectantly.

"Insufferable is right," Anders swatted at him, but only gently and in jest, pulling his hand away from Hawke's face with slow reluctance to check his bandages. Anders had already performed a fair amount of healing on him, but he could only do so much at once, and so he had worked on the important things first, like the cracked skull and the internal bleeding. Now that the worst of it had been dealt with, Anders could concentrate on healing the non life-threatening injuries.

Hawke fell silent as Anders' hands moved over him and he settled back into the pillows, watching intently as his lover's brows knit in concentration, eyes closing as he focused and called up his magic. It was a rare opportunity for Hawke to see Anders in full command of his powers at a time when they were not in the middle of fighting for their lives or in some other necessary hurry, and he indulged in the chance to do so while Anders steadfastly worked on him.

Hawke was a mage, so he knew what magic felt like, but mostly only from his own perspective, and he never had a gift for healing. He had come to realize over time and through experience that everyone's magic was slightly different, that even though it stemmed from the same shared source, everyone seemed to have their own magical 'fingerprint' that was uniquely them, with each mage's magical energy intricately tied to the essence of the one who commanded it.

The healing aura that formed around Anders had also enveloped Hawke, but it was not intrusive in the least. His sore, damaged, weary body seemed to welcome it, and it filled him with a gentle sense of warmth, almost like being soothed in his mother's arms after a particularly nasty scrape when he was a child.

Anders' magic flowed through Hawke like an extension of his own hands, like gentle, assuaging fingertips made of mana that probed his injured body and sought out damaged flesh and bone.

The pain in Hawke's ribs ebbed as Anders' magic repaired cracked and broken bones, and as the haze of discomfort began to lift from his mind, Hawke idly wondered if the way Anders' magic felt was really who he was inside, under all the layers of humor and sarcasm and anger that he kept close as armor to protect himself from the outside world.

Once Hawke's ribs were nearly good as new and the worst of the massive bruises and lacerations were soothed and healed away, Anders opened his eyes and gave a wan, tight-lipped smile.

"You'll still need to rest," he said, the aura softly fading from his hands as they lay gently on Hawke's bandaged chest. "I'm a mage, not a miracle worker."

Hawke smiled back, more easily now that the worst of the pain had faded, laying his own rougher, larger hand over one of Anders', affectionately rubbing his thumb over the back of it. His other arm slipped around Anders, nudging their bodies just a little closer. He felt Anders' body sag lightly against him, a great deal of his energy spent through his healing efforts. Hawke knew that Anders needed to rest, too, even if he was not about to say so.

He held Anders a little tighter, and after a moment felt Anders' head come to rest against his bandaged chest and shoulder. They both closed their eyes, and the only sounds breaking the silence in the room were the sounds of their slowly evening breaths and calming heartbeats as they settled and blended together in matching rhythms.

Hawke felt the tension in Anders' body melt away as sleep eventually took him; felt the hand beneath his own fall slack; felt the puffs of warm and even breath at the side of his neck as Anders' chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. He could sense the enticing embrace of slumber closing in around him, too, but before he allowed himself to succumb to it, Hawke slipped his fingers through Anders' long, slender ones and clasped them tightly, wanting to be sure that even in his dreams, he would not let go.


End file.
